


Sexual Tic-Tac-Toe

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [4]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fishnets, M/M, Sex Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Scott and Mitch play a little game before a show.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Sarah and RagingRainbow because we were joking about tic-tac-toe the other day.

They’re half-dressed and feeling lethargic—at least, Scott is. He lounges, stretched across the couch in their dressing room, and watches Mitch get ready. Mitch is wearing tights tonight, fishnet stockings stolen from Kirstie, and just a shirt for now, and Scott is transfixed by how his legs look in them.

Mitch finally sits down, wedging himself in between Scott and the armrest, and sighs. “I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t wear them.” He’s been having trouble deciding on an outfit for at least twenty minutes now, and Scott has given up offering advice.

“I like them,” Scott says. He touches Mitch’s thigh, tracing the lines of the fabric. There’s an awful lot of skin on display, and Mitch’s smooth legs seem to be calling out for Scott’s hands. “It looks cool,” he says then, “like a tic-tac-toe grid.”

Mitch laughs and says, “I should get thigh tattoos, so they’d show through.”

Scott’s partial to his pale skin, but he stretches over to the coffee table to grab a pen. He draws a tiny smiley face in one of the little holes in the tights. He draws a heart in another, and a star in the box next to it. Mitch says nothing.

Suddenly Scott realizes he’s drawing on Mitch’s skin without permission, and it doesn’t matter that it’s high enough on his leg to be covered up by whatever he ends up wearing. He caps the pen and gives Mitch a sheepish look.

“We could play,” Mitch says.

“Play?”

“Tic-tac-toe.” He snatches the pen from Scott’s hand and draws a circle on his own leg, then holds the pen out for Scott.

Scott stares down at the little O and licks his lips as an idea strikes. “We should have a forfeit. For whoever loses.”

“You have something in mind,” Mitch says.

“Winner gets to come,” Scott says. “Loser has to wait until tonight.”

This has become part of their pre-show ritual in the past couple of weeks, and Scott can see Mitch thinking it over, narrowing his eyes as he weighs the cost. It’s not enough of a ritual—and they’re not superstitious enough—that either of them believe not having an orgasm before the show will actually _affect_ the show, but not having an orgasm and being _denied_ an orgasm are two very different things.

Another moment passes before Mitch finally nods and says, “Okay. Loser has to wait.”

Scott draws a tiny X on his leg. They’re defining the grid as they play, which feels more fun. More uncertain. He hands over the pen and watches Mitch’s tongue poke out as he considers his move.

Tic-tac-toe is not a very long game. Mitch loses a few moves later, crying out softly in despair.

“Nooo,” he protests. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

It’s true. He was trying to win rather than trying not to lose, making it easy for Scott to sneak in with the winning move. Scott takes pity on him, though, because the game is so short and also because Mitch’s wide-eyed pout is incredibly hard to resist. “Best two out of three,” he suggests magnanimously.

He rubs his thumb across Mitch’s thigh, dragging the fishnet tights out of place. Mitch’s skin is going to look so strange when he takes these off. Little drawings all over his leg. He hands over the pen and lets Mitch go first again.

Moments later, Mitch whines and covers his face with both hands. He hasn’t lost yet, but they both know he’s about to. Scott laughs.

“It’s not fair.”

“You’re just bad at this game.”

“Shut up.” Mitch snatches the pen and fills in the last circle, sealing his fate.

Scott draws his final X, then leans over and presses a kiss to their little tic-tac-toe grid. Mitch is warm and so very smooth, and Scott’s feeling giggly and triumphant, and he decides they should play games like this more often. It’s certainly a pleasure marking up Mitch’s skin.

When Scott sits up, Mitch sighs, sounding very put-upon, and says, “I’ll take it like a man.”

“In fishnets.”

“A man in fishnets,” Mitch agrees. And with all the dignity in the world, he slips off the couch and settles on his knees in front of Scott.

“Wait,” Scott says. “We have a show.”

“Just let me do the work,” Mitch replies with a grin. He doesn’t wait for an answer before reaching for Scott’s jeans, and Scott is helpless to refuse him.

Mitch opens his pants and takes him out, deft fingers working quickly to bring him to full hardness, then he wraps his lips around the head of Scott’s cock and sinks down, spreading saliva and precome until they’re both dripping wet. Mitch leaves one hand around the base of Scott’s cock and lets the other wander, pushing up underneath Scott’s shirt. He strokes his palm over Scott’s abs, his ribs, then his fingers unerringly find Scott’s left nipple. He doesn’t pinch yet, but the threat is there and Scott’s hips jerk automatically, forcing his cock deeper into Mitch’s throat.

Mitch lifts up a little, humming disapprovingly, and Scott chokes back a groan. He rests a hand on Mitch’s shoulder, petting him as he says, breathlessly, “Sorry, sorry.”

It’s hard to keep still with Mitch gently teasing his nipples and skillfully laving his tongue against Scott’s cock, and before long he’s grinding his hips again, rolling his body in time with the rhythm Mitch has set.

Instead of reprimanding him, Mitch rides it out, pressing lower, taking Scott deeper. He massages Scott’s balls with one hand, strokes Scott with the flat of his tongue, moans so Scott can feel the vibrations of his lips, and Scott stops thinking, lets his body take over. He stares down at Mitch’s head, at his nose buried in the hair at the base of his cock, at the wet slide of Mitch’s pretty pink lips when he lifts up.

His body tenses, thighs taut under Mitch’s arms, and he closes his eyes. He’s so close now—he warns Mitch with a squeeze to his shoulder and a garbled, “Mitch, I’m—”

Mitch hums again and swallows him down, wringing out every drop and cleaning Scott up with gentle swipes of his tongue. He keeps his hands on Scott even as he comes up for air, letting him relax slowly.

Scott’s hazy with post-orgasm euphoria but Mitch… Mitch is definitely turned on. His eyes are dark and intense, and he’s alert when he looks up at Scott through thick lashes. Scott pulls him up off his knees, into Scott’s lap, and Mitch’s cock is tenting the front of his underwear. Mitch doesn’t touch himself. Scott isn’t sure if he should touch or not.

“That was hot,” Scott tells him. He glances down and licks his lips, and Mitch shoves him in the shoulder.

“Don’t make that face. I’m desperate enough without you teasing me with that tongue.” He bends to give Scott a kiss, chase his tongue back into his mouth.

With a sharp sigh, Mitch swings his leg over Scott’s lap and stands up. “You’d better make up for this later,” he says. His voice is stern, but his lips are twisted into a smirk. He turns around to rummage through his clothes case and finally settles on a pair of pants that have enough holes in them to show off the fishnets underneath.

Scott laces his fingers behind his head, enjoying the view of Mitch slowly covering up all that tantalizing skin. “Oh, I will,” he says.

Mitch twirls around to show off the finished ensemble and Scott’s eyes drop immediately to the bulge of his cock. He bites his lip and Mitch squeezes himself through his pants. It’s gonna be a long night for Mitch.

“You can count on it.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
